


Autumn Smiles

by ReadablePlot



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Doesn't Die, Evan still didn't fall out of the tree though, Found Family, Gay Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, Trust Issues, better than blood family amirite, confused evan hansen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReadablePlot/pseuds/ReadablePlot
Summary: Connor shrugged and turned to face Evan, whose eyes were trained on a giant novelty eraser on the dean’s desk that said “For Big Mistakes” in large script. He couldn’t help but feel like this whole thing had been a big mistake. Most of his decisions were.“You wanted to talk to me,” Connor prodded in response to Evan’s continued silence.“Sorry!” Evan blurted, too loud in the oppressive silence of the room.(Or... The one in which Evan tries to bond with Connor over their suicide attempts. Only, Connor wasn't trying to kill himself.)





	Autumn Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> I have rekindled my love for DEH and dug this up from the depths of my computer in an attempt to finish it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Each chapter title is based on a lyric from the corresponding song in the album and will attempt to reflect the tone, though not necessarily plot or characters.
> 
> Basically the same backstory and everything up through Connor storming out of the computer lab after he signs Evan's cast. Canon divergence from there.

****Connor woke up to a steady beeping sound and the feeling that his throat was on fire. As he processed the antiseptic smell in the air, he clenched his fists in irritation and opened his eyes, blinking quickly at the harsh fluorescent lights of the room.

He turned his head to the side in search of water, and was met instead with his mom’s sleeping face, her neck at an awkward angle as she slumped in the chair by his side. Connor put his head back and stared blankly at the ceiling. _Fuck_.

When he couldn’t handle it any longer, he forced himself into a sitting position, groaning at the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and almost blindly reaching for the water on the bedside table. Before he could grasp it himself, it was pressed gently into his palm.

Cynthia’s eyes, soft and concerned, greeted his own. “How are you feeling?”

Connor took a long drag of his water to avoid answering, looking instead at the closed door of his hospital room.

When she spoke next, Cynthia’s voice was disappointed, but Connor could feel an edge of anger in it. “You told us you would stop going to school high, Connor.”

“I _didn’t_ ,” he replied, jaw clenched to the point of pain.

“How can you even say that?” She was just angry now, no trace of her softness remaining. “Look where you are!”

Connor rolled his eyes at her dramatic response. “ _I didn’t_ _go to school high_. I got high at lunch.” He went to cross his arms over his chest and winced when the motion pulled at the IV in the back of his left hand.

His mom looked at him for a few seconds before sighing and getting up, moving to the door. Connor felt personally betrayed by the part of him that was hurt at seeing her seem to give up on him.

Instead, he was met with a fate worse than abandonment. Larry and Zoe burst into the room the moment Cynthia opened the door. His sister had the good sense to hang back, glaring at him from the threshold. His father, on the other hand, crossed the room in three steps and got right in Connor’s face. “How the hell could you do this to us?”

Connor scowled. “Do _what_? This is kinda my thing. And it’s not like I asked you to spring for a private room,” he said, making a sweeping gesture with his free hand.

“Do you even know how this _looks_?” Larry demanded, jabbing a finger into Connor’s chest.

“Like you’re shitty parents?” Connor guessed, refusing to give his father an inch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cynthia flinch at the comment and felt a small pang of regret.

Zoe came forward now, putting a gentle hand on her dad’s shoulder. Connor bristled at the way his father easily gave in to her push and moved away from the bed, certain Larry would have batted him away in an instant if he tried the same. “Connor, everyone thinks you were trying to kill yourself. It’s all over the school.”

Connor’s mind went blank. “Why the fuck would they think that?” he asked. Not that he cared what any of the assholes at school thought, but still. It was the principle of the thing.

“You kind of… don’t talk to anyone, or have any friends really,” Zoe said, her voice going up at the end like it was a question.

“That doesn’t mean I want to off myself!” Connor managed to keep himself from shouting, but barely.

“You don’t?” Her voice was small, almost younger.

Connor looked up at Zoe then, really looked at her, and she was kind of a mess. The makeup around her eyes was smudged and her nails were bitten down to nothing. “Hey, no,” he said, feeling a surge of big-brother protectiveness that had been MIA for years. “Of course not.”

Zoe nodded and swiped the back of her hand over her eyes. “Good.”

“I told her not to worry about you,” Larry interjected, thoroughly ruining the moment. “You may be a deranged fuck-up, but you’re not a suicidal one.”

“Like father like son,” Connor spit.

“Connor,” his mom said, stepping forward again, “you can’t talk to your father that way.”

“Weird,” Connor replied, “because it feels like I just did. Felt pretty good too; you should try it.”

Larry glared. “And here I was, willing to tell the nurses you’re just an idiot who isn’t a danger to himself, but instead,” he narrowed his eyes, “I think I’ll just let you sit here and rot for the next three days.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re being moved into a 72-hour psych watch,” he answered with a smirk. “For your own safety.”

* * *

 

_Attention parents and guardians of Westridge High School, this is Principal Hannon with an important message about your children’s health and well-being. The high school years can be incredibly difficult for students, with academic stress and worries about the future putting more pressure on them than ever before. Never forget the importance of making sure students feel loved and supported. Please, take a moment to sit with your children and remind them that they matter—to you, to me, to the world. Make sure they know that we have a support system set up here for anyone who needs it, that there is always an alternative, and that suicide is never the answer. Please contact the office if there is anything we can do for you or your family. Westridge bands together in difficult times._

“I just got the strangest voicemail from your school,” Heidi said, forehead creased with worry as she laced up her nursing shoes for work, phone still held between her ear and shoulder.

Evan’s brain immediately began racing with every possibility, but Heidi sensed the oncoming spiral and dropped her phone, reaching out a hand to him. “Hey, hey, calm down. It wasn’t about you, just one of those mass messages.”

“Oh,” Evan managed, focusing more on his breathing now than his mother’s words. “What,” he paused again, “was it about?”

“Telling our kids we love them? I don’t know what kind of parent needs to be reminded of that, but there it is.” Heidi shrugged. “They also said that we’re all here to help, and ‘suicide is never the answer.’ Any idea why they would send that out? Did something happen with one of the kids at school?”

Evan rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “It must have, I mean I don’t know for sure, but I guess it could have been about Connor Murphy?”

Heidi’s expression went from confused to concerned in a split second. She moved closer to Evan, cupping the side of his face with one hand. “Who is that? Was he a friend of yours?” Her eyes widened, “Did he—”

“Mom, I don’t even know him,” Evan said, looking at the floor to avoid his mother’s worried gaze. The school may not have said who the message was about, but everyone would know. As soon as Alana had heard about Connor while she was volunteering at the hospital, the news had spread through the school like wildfire. Heidi was quiet for a beat too long, and Evan realized she was looking at the blocky signature on his cast, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. Evan fumbled out an explanation. “I mean, I saw him around or whatever, but we weren’t _friends_. He only signed my cast so it would seem like we each had at least one friend, because we had that in common. Not having friends I mean. But I’m not like him,” he added, trying to absolve her of at least some of her concerns. “I’m not really like anyone, obviously.” He let out a nervous, self-conscious laugh.

“You’re unique,” Heidi said quietly. “And I _love_ that; even if no one else has figured out how wonderful you are yet, I know. But you aren’t… You don’t feel the way that Connor boy did, do you?” She fiddled with her purse, on the brink of being late for work but clearly unable to leave without getting rid of this last worry.

Evan shifted his weight from foot to foot as she spoke, unable to hold himself still. “I’m okay,” he said in a rush. “Well not okay obviously because I wouldn’t have a therapist if I was okay but I think you know what I mean and—” The words came out in a jumble, stringing themselves together with scarcely a breath between each one. “I’m not—” he paused, trying to sort out the mess in his head. “I couldn’t do that,” he blurted finally, twisting his fingers in the hem of his shirt.

Heidi’s whole body seemed to sag with relief. “I’m so glad, Evan. I know talking about this isn’t easy for you, and I’m so proud of you.”

Evan furrowed his brows. “For what?”

She smiled softly, kissing him on the cheek. “For doing your best.” Then, with a final check that she had everything she needed for her night shift, Heidi reminded Evan to eat something tonight and left for work.

Evan flopped onto his bed shortly after she left, exhausted and unsettled by the conversation. His mom thought he was doing his best, and she was proud of him for it. But proud of him for what? For living?

He held his cast up in front of his face, tracing the letters of Connor’s name with his eyes and wondering if maybe they were more alike than he thought.

* * *

 

Connor spent his three day psychiatric observation in a haze of boredom. There was literally nothing to do; his roommate was doped out of his mind on sedatives, which was probably a good call considering the bandages all over his arms and legs, but that just made it even more boring. Everyone in the psych ward had a curfew, scheduled meals, and no access to their phones. Eventually, Connor resorted to counting specks on the ceiling tiles and picking the chipped polish off his nails.

The first time he met with Dr. Sims, he had grudgingly—and angrily—explained how he ended up in the psych ward in the first place. To his surprise, she seemed to believe him. Not that it mattered, since he was stuck there until the 72 hours were up regardless. At least Dr. Sims didn’t think he was a full-fledged psychopath like so many other people seemed to.

On his last check-in with her, an hour or so before his mom was supposed to come pick him up, Dr. Sims gave Connor her card “just in case.” He shoved it in his pocket unthinkingly and shook her proffered hand, because she treated him like an actual person, and it was refreshing.

He then went straight to his room, gathered what few belongings he had been allowed, and changed out of his hospital sweats, putting on his standard “goth chic” outfit, as Zoe had started calling it when she was fourteen. It had annoyed him then, the way she reduced his effort to stand out from his family, but now he went with it. Anything was better than that piece of shit Jared Kleinman’s label—replacing “goth” with “school shooter.”

Connor waited in the lobby, eyes locked on the big front windows in anticipation of his mom’s Lexus. Instead, he was met a few minutes later with his dad’s BMW, a garish yellow monstrosity that he hated having to associate with. It was almost as bad as his father’s attitude. As though he could read his son’s thoughts, Larry parked in the closest available space—a handicapped spot—and then stomped into the room, signing Connor out of the center without saying more than three words to him.

The pair of them managed to keep up their disgruntled silence for about half the journey home, at which point Larry cleared his throat and spoke in a firm voice. “You are not to tell anyone at school where you’ve been the past few days, or why you were there.”

Connor scoffed. “Who the fuck would I tell?”

Larry tightened his grip on the wheel. “Zoe says people have been gossipping. Some of them may ask you about it.”

“What did she say when they asked her?”

“That she didn’t want to have anything to do with you or your problems.”

Connor was smart enough to know not to trust his dad, but the thought of Zoe saying that about him stung anyway. He clenched his jaw and looked out the window. “Why didn’t mom come to pick me up?”

They both knew that Larry wouldn’t have chosen to be alone with Connor if he had any real choice in the matter. “Zoe had a jazz band concert.”

“And that was more important than me getting out of the hospital?”

“Of course,” his dad replied, raising an eyebrow at Connor. “Her solo is an accomplishment.”

“And I didn’t die,” Connor responded drily, throwing in jazz hands for added effect. “Accomplishment.”

Connor went straight to his bedroom when they reached the house, closing and locking his door behind him. He didn’t come out when Cynthia and Zoe got back, and only went to school the next morning because it was the easiest way to get some distance from his family for a few hours. Sure, Zoe would be there, but at least they weren’t in the same grade. He probably wouldn’t even have to talk to anyone.

* * *

Evan was determined to talk to Connor Murphy. Well, as determined to talk to someone as Evan Hansen could be. Which wasn’t a lot, but it was something. His brain kept going back to his conversation with Connor in the computer lab, right after Connor had signed his cast. For one bright moment, Evan had thought that he could make a friend, and then his letter to himself had ruined it, and Connor had been so upset, and then the next day, he had…

Evan just needed to talk to him, just for a minute, that’s all. He just had to know.

He spied Connor before first period, trapped between Alana and the brick facade of the gym, scowling as she talked a mile a minute. Evan tried to work up the nerve to go over there, but then he saw how mad Connor looked, and he thought maybe he should wait until later. He might make it worse, after all, like that time in the hallway when Connor thought Evan had laughed at him. He just didn’t want to upset Connor any more than he already was. It’s not like he was scared.

Evan spent the beginning of first period avoiding his English teacher’s eyes as he assigned students to read aloud. Once all the roles for their current act of _Hamlet_ had been handed out, he slumped into his seat and spent the rest of class trying to convince himself that there was no real reason to be afraid of Connor Murphy. After all, he had only shoved Evan. That was nothing, really. He could do this.

When the bell rang to signal the end of class, the sound jarred Evan out of his thoughts. He flipped his binder off his desk while trying to shove it into his backpack, and his hands shook as he went to pick it up from the floor. The room was mostly empty by the time he managed to right himself, and he had broken out into a nervous sweat. As he slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the classroom door, Evan wiped his hands on the front of his shirt in an effort to dry them.

It didn’t take much to find Connor, as Evan could hear his voice the moment he opened the door. Stepping into the hall more fully now, he could see Connor and Jared a few classrooms down, and Connor’s face was twisted into an aggressive scowl. Jared, for his part, had a pretty smug expression on his face despite the fact that Connor was seriously encroaching on his personal space.

“Dude, I was just trying to apologize,” Jared said, the tone of his voice betraying some of his fear as Connor continued to approach.

Connor clenched his fist. “Just get out of my face.”

“Not to be a smartass or anything, but you’re the one getting in my face,” Jared defended lightly. He locked eyes with Evan across the hall and shrugged.

“And you’re the one who started this conversation,” Connor replied. “I’m just trying to finish it.”

Jared sidestepped Connor now, backing away with his hands held up in front of him. “Whatever, man. A guy tries to own up for his sins—ie helping you along on your journey to the looney bin—and this is the thanks he gets.” He continued muttering to himself as he moved away, ending up standing beside Evan with Connor glaring daggers into them both. “So that was fun,” he said when he got to Evan’s side.

“Jared, why were you even b-bothering Connor at all?”

“Remember our first day back?” At Evan’s nod, he continued, “I was a dick to him. Obviously I didn’t know he was suicidal or whatever, or I would have left him alone. I just wanted to tell him that. You know, burn bridges.”

Evan’s eyes scrunched up in confusion. “I think you mean ‘mend fences.’ But that was—”

At that moment, Connor stormed over to them, eyes ablaze with fury. Jared assumed he had left the hall when he turned his back, and Evan had been too focused on making sure he formed his words correctly and didn’t embarrass himself in front of Jared to keep track of Connor as well. “You must think pretty highly of yourself,” Connor said, clearly having listened to every word Jared said.

“Somebody has to,” Jared laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

“Jared,” Evan began, wishing more than ever that Jared had any sense of self-preservation. Or self-control, for that matter.

“You are not important enough to make someone kill themselves,” Connor growled, prodding Jared in the chest hard enough to send him stumbling back into Evan, who had unconsciously moved away from the line of fire.

“Okay,” Jared said, drawing the word out for a long moment. “Then I’m _not_ sorry I called you a freak.”

Unable to speak, Evan smacked Jared on the arm and gave him a pleading look that he hoped translated to _Shut up_. However, the motion did little more than cause Connor to turn on him next. “What are you looking at? Are you following me, just waiting to pile on whenever this shit stain pisses me off?” He pointed a thumb at Jared with the last few words, though he didn’t need to. Evan certainly understood his animosity.

“No!” Evan answered, too loud. Struggling to control his voice, he continued. “I mean, no, I’m not following you, but I see how you would think that because I’m here now and I was there then and I bet that looks pretty weird, how I’m always around,” he paused for breath and saw Jared roll his eyes in his peripheral vision. “I was, um, actually looking for you though,” Evan admitted, avoiding eye contact by looking pointedly at a spot over Connor’s left shoulder.

Connor eyed Evan skeptically. “If this is more creepy shit about my sister…”

“It’s not!” Evan exclaimed, windmilling his arms in an effort to dispel that thought. On an upswing, he somehow managed to catch Jared in the eye.

“Why must it be the beautiful who suffer most?” Jared groaned, cupping his face with one hand and flipping Evan off with the other, ignoring his stuttered apologies. “Wait,” Jared added a second later, when the pain subsided and he had time to process Connor’s words. “Did you make him read one of your creepy sex letters about Zoe? Damn, Evan, that’s weird. Even for you.”

“I didn’t— They’re not—” Evan began, not sure where to start. Luckily, he was cut off by the tardy bell for second period. The group of onlookers that had been surrounding them all dispersed, leaving the three boys alone in the hall until Evan saw a dean turn the corner. He had never been so relieved to see an administrator heading straight towards him.

Ms. Stafford hastened over to the three of them, her short legs carrying her as fast as they could, her stern gaze fixed on Jared in particular. “What are you three still doing out here?”

Jared, always the first to speak up in any situation, answered cheerfully. “We were just having an open and honest discussion about mental health, which, as you know, Westridge High values above all else.”

Fixing her most menacing look at him, she responded, “That isn’t funny, Kleinman.”

“I’m serious! Just ask Evan,” Jared insisted.

Ms. Stafford’s voice was a little less gruff when she turned to Evan, having developed a soft spot for him after he had a panic attack freshman year. She had found him huddled under the bleachers with a tear-streaked face and frightening inability to breathe, and she still saw that vulnerability when she looked at him now. “What do you have to say for yourself, Hansen?”

Evan barely noticed that her voice was nonthreatening, because the words themselves were still accusatory. He started to stammer, and it was Connor who ended up answering for him.

“We were talking about stuff.” he said. At Jared’s look of triumph, he added, “Just Hansen and me. This guy,” he pointed at Jared, “can go to class though. I _really_ don’t know why he’s here.”

Ms. Stafford waved Jared off. “You heard him, Kleinman, get to class.”

Jared threw his arms up in defeat. “So the crazies can skip class, but I have to go just because I don’t need a therapist,” he muttered, trudging down the hall.

“See you in Wednesday detention!” Ms. Stafford called after him, taking a notepad out of her pocket and a pen out of her hair, no doubt writing down his comment word for word. Jared had the good sense not to respond to that, just holding a hand up in acknowledgement instead. When he was deemed far enough away, Ms. Stafford returned her attention to Connor and Evan. “You two ready to go back to class yet?”

Evan gave a mute nod, but Connor—having noticed the pitying looks he’d been getting from teachers all day—decided to push his luck. “I really was hoping to talk to Evan for a minute,” he said, and Evan was shocked by how quiet he managed to make his voice.

“What about?” The dean asked, still rightfully suspicious of Connor considering how much trouble he had caused her prior to his supposed suicide attempt.

Connor turned to Evan for an answer; he wasn’t going to do all the heavy-lifting here. “I-it’s, um, private?” Evan tried. “I mean it’s not like we’re keeping a secret or anything because we don’t even know each other, not that I wouldn’t keep secrets for Connor if he asked me to, it’s just that he never asked because—” Evan was looking more and more lost as he spoke. “We don’t know each other...”

Ms. Stafford raised one eyebrow, giving Evan’s signed cast a pointed look. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt on this one, Hansen. You two can come finish up your conversation in my office, and then you’re going back to your classes.”

Connor and Evan followed the dean back to her office, and Evan focused on keeping his breathing in time with her rapid footsteps while he attempted to collect his thoughts. Connor, for his part, just trailed along, glancing into the occasional classroom they passed and enjoying the fact that he could skip without getting yelled at for once.

By the time they reached the office, Evan’s attempt at calm had devolved into a frenzy of nerves and fragmented sentences. Was it a mistake to have approached Connor? The two of them had never gotten through a single conversation successfully. Still, he felt like he at least needed to try, but the effort of speaking to Connor in the hall had been almost too much, his face both suspicious and judgmental before Evan could get more than a few words out.

Ms. Stafford swung her office door open and ushered the boys in, standing behind her desk and drumming her fingers as she waited for them to begin speaking. “Well? I thought there was something you two needed to discuss?”

Evan blanched. She wanted to listen in? He still hadn’t settled on what he would say to Connor, and the idea of having to do so in front of another person was overwhelming. He felt his hands begin to shake and quickly twined his fingers with the hem of his shirt to still them.

“He said it was private,” Connor reminded her, nodding his head in Evan’s direction.

“Which is why I got rid of Kleinman for you,” Ms. Stafford deadpanned. “You’re welcome. Now talk.”

Connor shrugged and turned to face Evan, whose eyes were trained on a giant novelty eraser on the dean’s desk that said “For Big Mistakes” in large script. He couldn’t help but feel like this whole thing had been a big mistake. Most of his decisions were.

“You wanted to talk to me,” Connor prodded in response to Evan’s continued silence.

“Sorry!” Evan blurted, too loud in the oppressive silence of the room.

Connor spoke up sharply before Evan had time to start babbling. “For _what_?”

“It’s just—” Evan began, cutting himself off before beginning again. “I guess I wanted to talk to you about, um, what happened…” He frowned, unsure of how to explain. “Do you remember that day in the computer lab? When you signed my cast?”

“Obviously,” Connor replied, wary of where Evan was going with this.

“I thought for a second that you maybe wanted to be friends? With me? And I could have been wrong—I’m probably wrong but,” he looked away from Connor then, returning his gaze to the floor and falling silent.

“But what?” Connor’s brow was creased with confusion. He didn’t know what he had expected out of this conversation—other than a free pass out of math for a while—but this bumbling attempt at conversation certainly wasn’t it.

Evan took in a deep breath and let the rest of his words flow forth in a rush. “Then you found that letter I wrote, and you got really mad when you read it—of course you did, it was so weird and I never should have written it—and I felt so bad because I could have had a friend, and I just ruined it, and then the next day…”

The strength of Connor’s glare forced Evan to lapse back into silence. “You fucking feel sorry for me, don’t you?” Evan tried to protest, but Connor stood up, his fists clenched, and Evan’s jaw snapped closed. “You can’t seriously think _you_ were that important to me,” he growled.

“Connor, that’s enough,” Ms. Stafford cut in quietly.

“No,” Evan spoke up, his voice soft. “He’s right, it was stupid of me to think that, that I mattered that much. Like, why would he care if we weren’t friends, right?” He forced out a strangled laugh and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Of course there were other things going on, and it’s not like I expect you to tell me what they were or anything,” he said, meeting Connor’s eyes briefly. “I mean, you said it, we’re not even friends. You don’t even _want_ to be friends.” Evan clenched his eyes shut tightly, shaking his head as though to clear it of his thoughts.

“I didn’t even fucking—” Connor began, angry and confused.

“Language, Murphy!” Ms. Stafford had tried to be lenient, but she was starting to get the feeling he would milk her sympathy for all it was worth—unlike Evan, who was constantly walking on eggshells, Connor had no qualms about making himself heard.

Ms. Stafford’s curt shout rattled Evan, causing him to jerk back in his chair. In the process, the back wheels caught on a power cord running across the small room, sending him toppling to the ground as the chair tipped over. He curled in on himself then, trying to keep his face from going red with embarrassment, but the more he thought about it the redder he got. He could barely hear Ms. Stafford or Connor speaking to him over the volume of his thoughts, which were screaming reminders of how stupid he was, how no one would ever forget this moment, how they would tell everyone and laugh at him behind his back for years.

“Evan, you’re okay,” he heard Ms. Stafford’s voice say distantly.

“We can be friends if you don’t straight up die right now,” Connor offered uncertainly, and for some reason the absurdity of the statement garnered a hoarse laugh from Evan. “There you go, just breathe.”

As Evan slowly regained control of his lungs, he grounded himself by focusing on physical sensations. The feel of his fingertips on the rough fabric of the carpet. The desk fan ruffling his hair as it oscillated towards him. The hand, soft and warm, that rested on his shoulder.

It was the hand that fully shook him from his stupor, when he realized it was too large to belong to Ms. Stafford. She was five feet tall at most, relying on her attitude to make up for what she lacked in height. Evan’s eyes trailed from the unfamiliar hand up the arm, eventually landing on Connor’s face. He blinked, and Connor dropped his hand, leaving it resting on the ground between them.

By the next blink, Ms. Stafford was at his side again, a bottle of lukewarm water in her hand. “Hydrate,” she instructed, pushing his hair back from where it had flopped into his face and now clung there, damp with sweat.

Evan nodded, apologized to her, took a sip of water, and apologized to Connor for good measure.

Connor raised a dubious eyebrow. “What are _you_ sorry for? She’s the one that yelled you out of your chair.” He hooked an accusing thumb in Ms. Stafford’s direction.

She narrowed her eyes at Connor in return. “I’m going easy on you for now, but you’d do well to remember that I’m in charge here, Murphy.”

“And you’re doing a great job,” Connor deadpanned. He seemed to remember that Evan was beside him then and refocused his attention. “You remember how to breathe now?”

Evan looked absolutely mortified. “Yeah, sorry, I—”

“Quit apologizing,” Connor grumbled.

“Sorry,” Evan said, and he flinched away when Connor leaned forward.

“What’s wrong with you?” Connor asked, and again his voice was laced with confusion behind the annoyance.

Voice curt, Ms. Stafford interrupted. “Murphy, could you at least _pretend_ to be polite?”

Connor waved her off and waited for Evan to answer him. “I just asked a question,” he defended. “Friends can do that, right?”

Evan rubbed the exposed flesh above his cast nervously. “Sorry, which, um, which question did you want me to answer?”

“Oh my god, I don’t care,” Connor breathed, running a hand through his hair.

“S-sorry,” Evan stammered.

“Stop doing that!” Evan actually pressed his lips together at the outburst, as though he had to physically stop himself from apologizing again, and Connor felt a twinge of guilt. “Look,” he started, “if you’re feeling sorry for yourself, or for me or whatever, you don’t have to. I was trying to tell your idiot friend in the hallway before: My life choices have nothing to do with any of you.”

“Right, of course,” Evan said. “Sorry, it’s none of my business anyway; I don’t know why I thought I could just start talking to you and you would, like, open up to me like that…”

“Hey,” Connor stopped him, briefly returning his hand to Evan’s shoulder and wondering why he felt the strange need to protect this kid, “if you can stop saying ‘sorry’ every other word, you can talk to me whenever you want.” He paused and then added, “Also, try not to look like you think I’m gonna murder you.”

Evan gave him a small smile and nodded. “I can do that. Or at least try—I can try to do that.”

* * *

After a brief warning to behave themselves (directly mostly at Connor), Ms. Stafford had sent Evan and Connor back to their classes, where they went through the rest of the school day with only brief glimpses of one another between periods. Evan would seek out Connor but avert his eyes out of embarrassment the second he noticed Connor looking back.

With the final bell of the day, Evan had worked up the nerve to approach Connor one final time. He remembered his mom telling him not to give up before he tried, and while his attempt that morning had _technically_ been trying, Evan was reasonably sure he could do better. Like, 53 percent sure at least. Plus, Connor had offered to be his friend, even it was just a last ditch effort to pull him out of a panic attack.

Evan, naturally, had no idea what class Connor had seventh period, so he rushed from the science room to the school entrance, hoping to catch him before he left for the day.

“Evan!” He skidded to a stop at the sound of his name and turned to see Zoe Murphy striding rapidly toward him. His eyes went wide and he held on to the straps of his backpack, anchoring himself to keep from flailing in his nervousness.

“Zoe, hey.” Evan didn’t know what to say, but Zoe saved him by speaking before he got the chance to embarrass himself.

There was a harsh edge to Zoe’s words when she spoke, but her eyes remained soft and kind. “Did Connor hurt you? One of my friends saw you two walking with Ms. Stafford earlier, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she explained.

Evan frowned. “I’m fine,” he answered honestly. “Connor didn’t hurt me. Well, not unless you count that day he pushed me in the hall, but you saw that, it didn’t really hurt,” he babbled. “And anyway, that was my fault; I mean I shouldn’t have—”

“That was _not_ your fault, Evan,” Zoe insisted. “Don’t make excuses for my brother.”

“Sorry, I meant—” Evan began, but he was cut off just as abruptly by the other Murphy sibling.

“You’re apologizing to _her_ now?” Connor asked, planting himself beside Evan and glaring at Zoe.

Before Evan could get so much as a word out, Zoe scoffed. “Leave him alone, Connor.”

“No,” Connor said, his voice even and steady. “We’re friends now. Right, Evan?”

Zoe balked. “You can’t _make_ someone be friends with you, Connor! God, no wonder you’re always alone.”

Evan thought he saw a flash of hurt cross Connor’s face, just for a second, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Zoe, I,” Evan began, raising his hand slightly as though to speak during class. “We are friends. Or I want us to be friends, if that’s what Connor wants too.”

Connor dusted his hands together, meeting Zoe’s eyes. “That’s settled then.”

Zoe looked at Evan with concern. “This isn’t a good idea, Evan. You don’t know him like I do.”

Tilting his head to one side, Evan regarded Connor with a critical eye. Sure, he wore his hair long, and his clothes were all black, but that didn’t make him a bad person. Maybe black was his favorite color. Even his nail polish was black, and Evan thought it was kind of cool that someone who seemed so tough also apparently took time out of his life to paint his nails.

“I think I’ll be okay,” Evan said quietly, and this time he was certain he saw a look of relief cross Connor’s face.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Zoe replied. Holding up her car keys, she turned back to Connor. “Let’s go.”

Connor gave her a thin-lipped smile before turning to Evan. “Can you come over?”

“Oh, um,” Evan couldn’t remember the last time he had been invited to someone’s house for any reason beyond basic politeness. “I guess so? My mom doesn’t get home until late, and as long as there’s a bus stop near your house it should be fine.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Connor assured him. “I’ll drive you home.”

“You’re not allowed to drive,” Zoe reminded, shaking her keys again for emphasis.

“Then mom will drive him, whatever,” he snapped. “Point is, he’s coming over.”

Zoe looked at Evan one more time, like she expected him to back out at any moment. “Are you sure about this?”

Evan nodded and trailed silently behind them to Zoe’s bright blue convertible.

Specifically to annoy her, Connor got into the back with Evan despite how uncomfortable it was to fold his long legs into the space behind her seat.

“You’re such a child,” Zoe scolded. Connor flipped her off, and Evan stared out the window as the town passed them by, one subdivision at a time. No one spoke for the remainder of the car ride.

* * *

“This is my friend Evan,” Connor said, motioning at Evan and then crossing his arms over his chest, every inch of his body radiating hostility. Evan looked at the couple seated in the Murphy’s dining room. They looked perfectly nice, and he gave them a small wave in greeting, wondering what was going on between them and Connor.

Connor’s dad glanced up and then returned to his newspaper, disinterested. In contrast, his mom stood after a moment of gaping and beamed at Evan. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Cynthia. How do you know Connor?”

Connor rolled his eyes at her. “School.”

Ignoring his attitude, Cynthia kept her attention on Evan. “Do you two have classes together?”

“No, not really, I mean I guess we just… Started talking?” He didn’t know how to explain why he had started talking to Connor in the first place.

Cynthia smiled, “Well, that’s just great.” The words would have sounded sarcastic coming from just about anyone else, but Evan felt like she meant them.

Done with this conversation, Connor pulled Evan farther into the house by his wrist. “We’re going upstairs,” he announced.

“Make good choices!” Zoe called up after them, her tone mocking.

“Fuck you!” Connor returned, slamming the door shut behind them for good measure. He flopped back onto his mattress, boots kicking against the side of his bed before he looked up at Evan, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“You can sit wherever,” Connor offered. Evan glanced at the desk chair, which had a pile of laundry on it, and then back at Connor, who was still lying in bed but seemed to be observing Evan closely. “I told you to stop looking at me like you think I’m a murderer, right?” Connor asked.

“Sorry,” Evan said, averting his eyes, “I didn’t mean to—”

“Chill,” Connor interrupted. “I was kidding.” He sat up and patted a spot on the bed beside him. “Sit.”

Evan obeyed, grateful to have the choice of where to sit taken from him for the moment. “Your mom seems nice,” he said.

“She’s not the worst person,” Connor acknowledged.

Evan fiddled absently with his shirt again. “What about your dad?”

“The worst.” Connor said it with such certainty, as though Evan had asked for his name or the color of the sky. Basic facts: his name is Connor Murphy, the sky is blue, and his dad is the worst.

For some reason that made Evan sad, and he had nothing to say in response.

It was quiet again for a minute or two before Connor spoke next. “What about you?” Evan flinched, startled, and Connor clarified. “Your parents.”

“My mom is great,” Evan answered, grateful for something to talk about. “She works a lot, and I think maybe she worries too much and tries too hard to fix me sometimes, but she’s still really, I don’t know, just great. Like, she isn’t around all the time, but I know she cares, you know?”

Connor smiled. “I think that’s the most I’ve heard you talk without apologizing.” Evan opened his mouth, and Connor held up a hand, “Don’t ruin it by saying ‘sorry’ right now.” Evan mimed zipping his lips, looking contrite, and Connor actually laughed. It was a nice sound.

Connor leaned forward to poke Evan in the shoulder and asked, “What did you mean, that your mom tries to fix you?”

Evan met Connor’s eyes and chuckled uncomfortably. “Are you kidding?” Evan looked away from Connor’s steady gaze, speaking instead to a dark poster for some band he’d never heard of. “I’m weird, and it’s not the fun, quirky weird that people like. I just—I don’t know—it’s like I never learned how to be a normal person?”

“That’s bullshit,” Connor said, and he had to work to keep the venom out of his voice. “No one’s fucking normal; that word doesn’t mean anything.”

Twisting the fabric of Connor’s bedspread between his fingers, Evan tried to explain. “It doesn’t matter. People just don’t want to be around me, and I think my mom knows that—sometimes she’s one of those people, even—and I guess it makes her feel like she failed.” He shrugged. “So she wants to fix it—fix me.”

Connor frowned, and two small creases formed between his eyebrows. “You’re not even that weird. You just have a stutter.”

Evan considered this. He was pretty sure Connor was trying to make him feel better, which was odd, but he also wondered what he was, if not _weird_ . Crazy, probably. Or maybe just unlikable. What if it wasn’t his anxiety that kept him from making friends? What if it was just _him_ , his entire personality?

As Connor watched, Evan visibly lost track of their conversation. He couldn’t quite place how he knew it was happening, but there was just something different about Evan’s eyes, like he was still there, but farther away. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Evan said, his voice too enthusiastic, “I’m great. I was just thinking, I guess, about how you said no one’s normal, which means we’re all weird, so then it shouldn’t even be weird that I’m weird, right?” He made a face. “I think I said ‘weird’ too much; now it doesn’t sound like a real word anymore. Weird.”

“Are you high?” Connor couldn’t help but ask the question with a laugh. He had a feeling that nervous Evan Hansen had never been high in his life, but that last rant had sounded way too much like the basic stoner character on every teen drama.

Evan looked genuinely appalled. “No! I’ve never done drugs in my life,” he said. Then, as though remembering who he was talking to, he added, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Well, I mean, other than that it’s illegal, but I’m not a cop or anything, so I’m not judging you. In fact, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about this morning.”

One eyebrow raised, Connor said, “Please tell me you weren’t going to try and buy drugs off of me. Because,” he added, holding up one finger, “first of all, I’m not a dealer.” He put up a second finger, “And also, you should probably never be high. No offense, but if this is you sober…”

Evan could feel himself blushing as Connor spoke, so he rushed to clarify. “I know you’re not a dealer!” Then, afraid that would make him seem like some kind of stalker, he added, “Well, I didn’t know that, but I do now, because you told me, but that’s not what I meant. I don’t want drugs.”

Connor kept looking at him, unblinking, and Evan shifted away from him on the bed, moving all the way to the edge. “So, what did you want?” Connor’s stare was beginning to frighten Evan.

“To talk to you?” he squeaked out. “I know I must seem crazy, and I guess I kind of am, but it’s just a lot because, like, we basically just met and now I’m here in your house, on your _bed_ … Not that I don’t want to be here! Well, not specifically here on your bed, but with you, in general, talking to you,” Evan stopped himself before his ramblings could get any more embarrassing. He glanced up to meet Connor’s eyes, expecting scorn. Instead, Connor looked amused.

He leaned toward Evan, whispering, “So you _do_ want to be in my bed?”

Evan yelped and lurched backward, falling off the bed and landing soundly on his ass between a rumpled sweatshirt and a pair of headphones. “I—um, I just—”

Connor bit down on the knuckle of his index finger to keep from laughing at Evan, but he held out his other hand to help him up because Connor Murphy wasn’t _all_ bad.

Before Evan had finished blinking away his surprise, though, the door to Connor’s room burst open and Zoe stormed in. Seeing Evan on the floor, she crouched down beside him and glared at Connor. “What did you do to him?”

It was as if she had flipped a switch. No trace of laughter was left on Connor’s face; fury had replaced it. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is my business if you’re _assaulting_ people in our house!” Zoe seethed. “I’m not going to be a witness when you finally snap and kill someone.” She placed a hand on the small of Evan’s back but removed it when she felt him tense. “Are you okay?”

Evan looked between Connor and Zoe before pushing to his feet, forcing a weak smile. “Yeah, never better,” he said. “I just, uh, fell.” He shrugged. “Never been coordinated, that’s why I don’t do sports. Well, that and the asthma…” He clenched his hands at his side to keep from fidgeting. “Connor didn’t, like, do anything, if that’s what you thought. Not that I know what you’re thinking! But, well, it sounded like you thought that? So I… wanted to make sure you didn’t. Think that, I mean.”

Zoe narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you protecting him?”

“I don’t need protecting,” Connor growled.

“Of course not!” Evan exclaimed, and it felt like he was responding to both Murphy siblings at once. “Maybe I should, um,” he shuffled uncomfortably, “I should go.” He swung his backpack over his shoulder and rushed down the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this was probably a mistake because I suck at updating but I'm trying to be more productive as a human so you're gonna need to comment if you want updates. I'm a piece of trash so your external validation is all I got ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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